My Blue Havyn (Hearts of Hollywood - Christian Romance Novellas) Read online

  by Lynnette Bonner

  My Blue Havyn

  HEARTS OF HOLLYWOOD SERIES, Novella 1

  Published by, Serene Lake Publishing

  Copyright © 2014 by Lynnette Bonner. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design - www.indiecoverdesign.com

  Images ©

  http://www.crestock.com, File: #4835876-large, Couple.

  www.fotolia.com, File: #12172283_L, Acacia Tree and Giraffe.

  http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/, File: Sunset 15.

  THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  My Blue Havyn is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Current Books Available from Lynnette Bonner

  The Shepherd’s Heart Series

  Rocky Mountain Oasis

  Also available in audio

  High Desert Haven

  Also available in audio

  Fair Valley Refuge

  Also available in audio

  Spring Meadow Sanctuary

  The Islands of Intrigue Series

  The Unrelenting Tide

  Also available in audio

  Isaiah 54: 11-12

  Afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted,

  I will rebuild you with stones of turquoise,

  your foundations with lapis lazuli.

  I will make your battlements of rubies,

  your gates of sparkling jewels,

  and all your walls of precious stones.

  Eight-year-old Havyn Jessup pedaled her bike toward home, trying to hold the handlebars with one hand and slap the dust off her brand-new jeans with the other. But as she eyed the hole in the left knee, a queasy feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. There was no way she’d be able to disguise that. She was sure to catch it, and good. Mama hated it when she came home with torn clothes.

  Daddy stood by the big crack in the driveway, leaning against his rusty blue truck.

  She pulled into the yard and propped her Schwinn against the big old oak tree Mama always complained about come fall. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Come ’ere, darlin’.” He squatted down.

  She swallowed and glanced toward the house. Daddy hardly ever talked directly to her. “Is Mama okay?”

  He tilted his head and rubbed a hand over his head. “Yeah. She’ll be fine.”

  Some of the tightness eased in her tummy. “Okay, good.” She eyed his truck keys dangling from his hand. “You goin’ somewhere?” She couldn’t remember the last time Daddy went anywhere except to the gas station down the hill to buy beer.

  “Yeah.” Daddy seemed to be having a hard time talking all the sudden. His words were coming out like he had a bad cold.

  “You gettin’ sick, Daddy?”

  He forced out a squashed sort of laugh and blinked real hard. “No, darlin’. I ain’t sick. But the thing is…” He reached out and fingered a strand of her hair. “I’m going on a trip. I’m gonna be gone for a while. But…I’ll be back.”

  She frowned. No one had said anything about Daddy going on a trip. “Where are you going?”

  “Well now…” He looked down the street for so long she turned to look too, but she couldn’t see anything that might have caught his interest. Finally he looked back at her. “I don’t rightly know. But, I’ll be home again before you know it. You look for me, you hear? You sit there under the oak tree every night at five o’clock, and one of these evenings I’m gonna come driving over the hill. Alright?”

  Relief had her throwing her arms around his neck. He wouldn’t be gone for long. “I will, Daddy. I promise.”

  “Good girl.” He set her from him and ruffled her hair, then climbed into the cab of the truck. Several boxes were stacked on the bench beside him and on the floorboards.

  Daddy’s truck was loud and made a kind of funny clunky sound as he drove away. She could hear it long after he’d disappeared over the rim of the hill. But that gave her a strange kind of okay feeling because she knew she’d hear his truck before she could see it when he came home again.

  Gran moved in with them not long after Daddy left on his trip. Daddy called several times a month, at first. He’d tell Havyn about a new job he had, or a new adventure he’d been on, and then he’d remind her to wait for him, and she always promised she would. His calls grew farther and farther apart.

  Then his calls stopped coming altogether. Despite her waning hope and building frustration, for two years, rain or shine, she went out to the yard every night at five o’clock and sat under the big old oak tree. Mama or Gran would bring out her supper and make her promise to come in once her plate was empty.

  Her anger built slowly, until one night when Gran brought out her food, a wave of such rage washed over her that she took the plate, fork, and even the cup of milk and flung them as hard as she could out into the street. “I hate him!” She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face. The first tears she’d cried since Daddy left gushed out.

  Gran just sat next to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders, rubbing her back and stroking her hair.

  After a long time, when the sobs had subsided, Havyn turned her head till her cheek rested against her knees and looked at Gran. “You’re not mad at me for throwing the plate? I think it broke.”

  “No, child. I’m glad you threw the plate.”

  Havyn frowned. “You are?”

  Gran smiled. “Yes. In fact, you can throw as many plates as you like.”

  Havyn’s frown deepened. “I don’t think Mama would like that.”

  “Well, I suppose you are right about that,” Gran laughed. Her gaze wandered to the crest of the hill where the road disappeared into nothingness against the horizon, her face turning serious. And after a long moment she sighed. “You remember last year when you and the Carter boy broke the living room window?”

  How could she forget that? Mama had made her do dishes for a whole month to pay for it. And it hadn’t even been her fault! Levi had thrown the ball too fast. She swiped at her eyes and nodded.

  Gran leveled her with a kind look. “Trust is like a window, child. Once it is broken, you never see the world the same way again. But realizing the window is broken is half the battle of starting on the road to recovery. Now, gather the dishes, and let’s go inside and get you some dinner.”

  Havyn’s brow puckered as she rose to do as she’d been told. She sure wished Gran would talk plainer sometimes.

  Seattle, eighteen years later…

  Tossing the cabbie enough money for the fare to the airport and a generous tip, Havyn Jessup called out a “Thanks!” and then dashed across the sidewalk into the terminal, her one and only bag rolling behind her. Lord, if I miss the flight, know it’s not because I don’t love You or want to go on this building trip. But when You made me You might have made me with a little better internal clock…or plunked me in a city with less traffic than Seattle!

  There! An open computer terminal for her ticket check-in. Thank goodness she’d bought hers online. She rushed through the steps, tapping the screen to approve all the necessary information and galloping her fingers on the sides as she waited for the sloth who was apparently connecting the signals inside the computer to process her request. Finall
y it spit out her boarding pass and she snatched it with a triumphant “Yes!”

  Snagging her bag and jogging toward security, she darted around a woman trying to walk in three-inch heels and rolled her eyes, thankful for her sensible Nikes, Levis, and T-shirt. She was sure to be sweating up a storm by the time she reached the gate—if she reached the gate.

  She glanced at the time on her phone. There was nothing for it but to see if someone in the long security line would have mercy on her. She dashed down the outside of the stretched lane divider toward the front of the queue. “Excuse me?” She picked a nice-looking middle-aged man and offered him her friendliest smile, adjusting her backwards Seattle Mariners ball cap. “I’m going to miss my flight if I don’t get to my gate in less than five minutes. Would you mind if I cut in?”

  “I understand.” He motioned for her to take the space in front of him, but didn’t look too thrilled about it.

  “Thank you so much!” She ducked under the divider.

  Behind them several people hollered comments about her smarts, and her parental lineage. Her face heated. Forgive me, Lord. Why am I infernally late?

  The security agent who’d obviously seen her cut in line glowered from behind his podium, and seemed to take forever studying her ticket, then her, her driver’s license, her, and finally her passport. She squirmed impatiently. Couldn’t he see she was in a hurry here? After another long, assessing look down the length of her, he waved her through.

  Snatching her paperwork, she glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks again,” she smiled at the man who’d been kind enough to let her cut, then hurried over to plop her shoes into a tub. Pocket change, necklace, ball cap, and phone clattered into another beside them. And then she heaved her carry-on onto the rollers and shoved everything toward the scanner. As she scooted through the metal detector, a TSA agent, who had to be named Helga if there was anything right with the world, pulled her to one side.

  Of course. She closed her eyes and endured the invasive pat down, supposing she should be thankful Helga was working her over and not Herman, who stood just a few feet away, beefy arms folded, watching the little doorway for his next victim.

  “You’re good.” Helga shooed her on her way.

  Her carry-on and tub of extras already waited at the end of the X-ray counter. She grabbed up her stuff, tugged her ball cap into its usual backward angle, and didn’t even bother to put her shoes on as she sprinted up the concourse. She had a minute, tops, to make it ten gates down. Chelsea would kill her if she didn’t make the flight.

  Two weeks earlier her friend had called to say someone had canceled on the building trip their church was taking to Malawi, Africa, and could she take their place. It had been a low blow to begin with since Chelsea had known Havyn’s two weeks’ vacation lined up with the trip’s timeline. She’d been looking forward to some alone time in Gran’s old house out on San Juan Island. But how could she deny kids in Africa a couple weeks of her time? And Mom had already booked renters into the place for those two weeks, and heaven knew Mom could use the extra money. So it had all worked out, but if she missed her flight and had to stay in her noisy apartment for two weeks… Ugh!

  “Excuse me, please!” She dashed around a slow couple pushing a stroller, her socks slipping on the linoleum floor. What was the gate number again? Shoes clutched to her chest and dragging her bag, she tucked her passport between her lips and tugged at the boarding pass to check. C12. She strained to see down the causeway. C8 was just ahead. Only a few more to go.

  “There you are!” Chelsea jogged toward her, looking like a mother who’d lost a toddler. “I was so afraid you weren’t going to make it.”

  Havyn speared her with a scowl, continuing her headlong rush as Chels fell in beside her. She snatched her passport out of her mouth. “I got the slowest taxi driver on earth. And there was an accident on the freeway.” With their gate’s sign now plainly in sight, Havyn sighed in relief. She’d made it!

  “Well, you’re here now, and they announced a few minutes ago that boarding would be delayed, so…” Chelsea took Havyn’s boarding pass and passport, gesturing to a seat.

  “You mean I have time to put my shoes on?” Havyn sank into the plush fake leather and crammed one foot into a tennis shoe. She didn’t even want to look at the bottoms of her new white socks. They had to be filthy by now.

  “Havyn.” Chelsea’s fingers fluttered against her arm. “Can we slow down?” Her friend wrung her hands together. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Havyn froze. She sounded really upset. Hands still on the laces, she tilted her head up to study Chelsea’s pale, worried expression.

  Chelsea’s face contorted into a please-don’t-kill-me grimace. “Um, Havyn…listen…I swear, I didn’t know he was coming on this trip, but—”

  A chill prickled down her spine.

  Chelsea pointed sheepishly across the backs of the chairs behind her to a group chatting animatedly in one corner of the gate’s alcove.

  Pastor Chad was there. Along with Jeremy Gates, Grady Williams, and John and Sally Portman. None of them were a surprise. They’d all been at the meeting the night before to finalize plans and make sure everyone had their passports and tickets, had been inoculated, and was mentally prepared for the trip.

  What was a surprise was the crowd of reporters and television camera crews standing with the group. A professional woman in a bright red suit held a mic out to someone Havyn couldn’t see—a cameraman with a huge video camera on his shoulder blocked her view. Other people held up bright lights on poles and jostled to position their cameras. Another man held a camera above the heads of those in front of him and randomly snapped off a reel of photos.

  Pastor Chad had mentioned in passing that two other people would be joining their group, and just the sight of the paparazzi made her feel a little sick inside.

  It can’t be. Her face felt tight as she turned a look on her friend.

  Chelsea had the grace to press her lips together and offer an apologetic wince. “I had no idea he was coming, I promise!”

  “No. No. No. This isn’t happening!” Havyn jerked the laces on her second shoe tight and cinched them down, then grabbed her bag and headed back the way she’d just come. No absolute way.

  “Havyn!” Chelsea grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop smack-dab in the middle of the bustling airport terminal. As Chelsea jumped in front of her and gripped her shoulders, red hair, freckles, and pleading green eyes swam before her.

  Her rolling carry-on poked out on a stiff arm behind her. Her mouth turned dry and she tried to swallow. “Chelsea, there’s no way on God’s green earth I’m going to spend two weeks—fourteen miserable days!—with Levi Carter! Even if it is in Africa, where he might, if God has any sense of justice, be eaten, one tiny bite at a time, by a pride of hungry lions.” She stepped to one side and tried to push past.

  But Chelsea was too quick and once again blocked her path. “Havyn, you can’t back out now! Pastor Chad is counting on you!”

  Havyn melted forward until her forehead pressed into Chelsea’s shoulder.

  Chelsea patted her back awkwardly. “Everything will be fine. The newspeople are only here because of his upcoming movie, and besides, Rayne McQuaid is with him, so he probably won’t pay the teeniest bit of attention to you. You guys have been broken up for…what now? Four years? Things are bound to be better this time. You know he’s always been a nice guy.”

  Havyn lifted her head and offered the meanest glower she could muster.

  Tilting her a sympathetic look, Chelsea pooched out her lower lip, then pulled Havyn’s head back to her shoulder. “Okay, so he wasn’t so nice when he broke up with you. But he’s bound to have changed in those four years.” Chelsea sucked in a breath. “Has it really been that long since he left? Wow, girlfriend, we really need to work on getting some guys in our lives.”

  Somewhere someone moaned like a cow in labor. Oh, wait, that sound was coming out of her mouth.

>   She would be spending the next two weeks with Levi Carter. Her best friend through grade school. Her junior high crush. Her high school sweetheart. The man she’d planned, for as long as she could remember, to marry. Until he’d broken her heart the day he’d gotten the part in his first movie.

  “Headed to California,” he’d said. “Gonna make something big of myself,” he’d said. All things he had done. As evidenced by the fact that a group of reporters had somehow managed to secure permission to see him off at the gate.

  She was just starting to recover from the hurt of his desertion. But now he was here. And with his glamorous, former-Miss-USA, model-turned-actress girlfriend, if the tabloids could be trusted.

  And I didn’t even bring a smear of makeup with me.

  “Come on now, buck up. We are marching over there, and you are going to be your perky, confident self and show him you have totally moved on and don’t give a fig’s wig how hot, hunky, or famous he is!”

  Levi Carter slid his hands into his pockets and smiled at the reporter grilling him about this “humanitarian mission.” When he’d first been invited on the trip by Pastor Chad and had approached Gil, his producer, about a possible donation from Whetstone Media, his only intention had been to possibly generate some extra money so they could do a little more for the village they were headed to. But Gil had immediately seen dollar signs and had sanctioned more than Levi could have hoped for on the condition that the marketing department be allowed to hype it in the media and that, as part of the promo, Rayne go along too.

  Gil had been beside himself. In homes all across America fans would speculate and gossip about Levi and Rayne heading off into the wilds of Africa together. It would generate buzz for next month’s release of Serengeti Sunrise, a movie he and Rayne costarred in about the Zulu/British war in 1879.

  For Gil and the investors this trip was only about creating hype, but Levi didn’t care why they’d approved the funds. He was just grateful the Lord was giving him the opportunity to combine two things he was passionate about—helping the less fortunate and making quality movies.

  Beside him Rayne tittered flirtatiously with Blake Cranford of Fox News, and Levi forced his attention back to the press conference.